Please answer the phone. Please answer the phone. Please answer the fucking phone. Dead tone. Beep beep beep. Those beeps became such a feeble connection to the regular world, such wholesome little beeps, like the excitement of watching a truck

Drink one. Drink two. Drink seven. Alcohol can create blur lines for yourself, and eventually, put you in a place of darkness. One minute you’re standing there with your friends having a good time, the next minute you’re waking up

You have to connect to the ground, and open your heart, to create space, and stand in integrity, to speak your truth. This is a story about healing….my ongoing journey to heal from what was an unspeakable trauma. My hope

When you’re sixteen, there’s not a day when you think that you are not invincible. At least, that was the case for me. When I was sixteen, three years ago, my life was spinning in a million different directions. I

My brother’s best friend, “C”, babysat my little sister and I was younger without any supervision. My parents were in the house, but in another room. We were in my brother’s room playing the PlayStation. Every other turn my sister

My story included a case of public humiliation, abuse and sexual harassment in Slovenia, by sexual predators and psychopaths. The harassment included massive abuse of past e-mail correspondence with a former Secretary of State of the Ministry of Finance, whom

My name is Wilson Shantae and I am a Sex Trafficking Survivor. My journey started at the age of 14. My mother was addicted to heroin and sold me to the neighborhood drug dealer, who at that time was my

Coming to terms with being transgender/nonbinary, taking both high school and college classes, and struggling with mental illness is hard enough as it is, but only gets harder when three different people on three different days cause what little self

We met at a high school football game. We were both seniors, but going to different schools. He was 6’7″, easily over 220 lbs, very muscular, extremely handsome and very good at charming people. He went to my best friend’s

I have never written anything about my personal life before, but I’m going to tell you my story that needs to be shared. When I was 7 years old, I was molested by my step-grandfather who we will call “LS”.

He felt so fucking wrong and I kept saying no everytime he'd thrust his hips, I felt like in my life this was the first time I seriously wanted to die because I had never felt this terrible in my life.

When I was 8 a boy that was 10 touched my butt almost everyday.When I was 9 that same boy in my class shoved me into a corner and shoved his hand into my shirt.Right now I am still scared of anything potentially happening.

"There are other things we can do besides sex" he said. But that's where he was wrong. When I said no sex, I meant I didn't want to be sexual with him. In any way. I wanted to innocently flirt, hold hands, and cuddle on his couch. He saw it as a line crossed when his penis entered my vagina. I saw it as a continuum. It's not, Everything But. It's encompassing all sexual acts. The pressuring to feel my breasts, to take off my pants, those all fall under the continuum of "Sexual." I didn't want any of it.

In the light of morning, with a pounding head and dry mouth, I woke to find a hand touching me. I rolled over to find a man who was only vaguely familiar, but definitely not someone I knew. I didn’t even know his first name, let alone his last.

I tried to kick and tried to pry my hands free but he only gripped harder. The moment he inserted himself inside me, my entire body went limp. I became a dead fish and stopped fighting. It was as if a part of my soul had died.

e knew what he did and he knew it wasn’t okay. Worst of all is I blamed myself and I still do for not knowing how it all happened, how my clothes came off, how I allowed my rebellion to lead me there, did he even use protection!?

Once he told me, I told him we needed to talk about our options in the event that I fell pregnant. The day he came over, he told me he’d kick me down the stairs if he had to. I told him to get the fuck out.

You knew what you were doing while you were doing it to me. Nobody rapes on accident. I am sending you this message so I can put the pain and shame I have been carrying where it belongs, with you. If I have to live the rest of my life as a victim of rape, you should have to live the rest of your life knowing you raped me.

The female cop got out of the car to talk to my friend, and I went inside the car to talk to the male cop, I remember not being able to explain my self properly, all I knew is that something was wrong , something bad has happend to me, hyperventilating I tried to explain the time line of events,

I tried collecting myself to text a friend to let them know where I was and what had happened, but I couldn't focus or coordinate myself. I have no idea how long I was in the washroom for. It couldn't have been for long, but what I can remember about that part of the night is that two people escorted me out the club through the back door away from my friends.

But when I woke up at 6AM him fingering me and trying to cram his dick inside me, I don’t think I consented to that. When I tried to roll over to the other side, to cross my legs, to avoid it as much as possible, I don’t think I consented to that. When he said “oh you don’t like that, huh” and continued, I really don’t think I consented to that.

How the fuck did I get in this situation? I was working really hard not to get this fucked. I worked so hard to not be a whore. Does this act make me a whore? A slut? I am a whore. I am a slut. Why the fuck did I even talk to this guy. Why the fuck did I get myself into this situation. This situation sucks. Not knowing anything sucks. I hate this. I will never know what really happened.

A few days ago I was watching this video where Cara Delevingne spoke about depression and she read out this beautiful poem she wrote and it really resonated with me. I have been reading a lot of articles on anxiety,

He does not deserve to be able to continue this career of his without any action being held against him. He is the definition of a sexual pretador and should be seen as nothing short of it. He hurt me in more ways than I could’ve ever imagined. I wish for the life of me I would have never even met him. He is disgusting.

The When You're Ready Project is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories and have their voices heard, finding strength in one another. When you're ready to share your story, we will be here.